


How Do I Get Myself Into These Things...

by TheMatraPseudoBiblica



Series: The Matra and the Extracurriculars [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's, The Matrassons
Genre: Imaginascape, Just Roll With It, Springtrap - Freeform, the matra is me, vincent is dying, well here we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3837862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMatraPseudoBiblica/pseuds/TheMatraPseudoBiblica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note: The guy I'm talking to at the end is the amazing Boo-Ghosty's Noah.</p><p>Yeah, he's another Vincent. (I never learn, do I?)</p><p>http://boo-ghosty.deviantart.com/</p></blockquote>





	How Do I Get Myself Into These Things...

How do I get myself into these things?

Oh, hi. I’m the Matra Psuedo Biblica. I live to make things difficult for story characters. Normally, I spend a lot of time with my sons on the Imaginascape…

…But then there are times like these when I can’t help myself and I get closer to other characters.

Which brings me to the vigil I’m keeping.

To my left is an animatronic costume. It’s battered and generally ugly, but recognizable.

People call it Springtrap.

If you listen closely you can hear shallow breathing. The last gasps of a dying man.

I tried, Vincent. I tried.

I can hear his heart stuttering. Stupid organ, doesn’t know it’s already too late.

I tried to warn him. I did my utmost to help him. 

I did all I could.

And now I have to sit here and listen to the death rattle shaking him and hope the end comes soon.

There were no great gouts of blood bursting out of him when the metal and wires popped back into place. The souls of his victims burst into infinity. Stupid souls.

Everyone knows that seeking revenge leads to nothing good.

I tried to warn them too.

And now there’s nothing left in this comedy. The farce is over and I’m keeping a vigil, waiting for death to take him.

I tried. I talked to him. Tried to convince him. Argued with him. Recommended more sleep, medication, better nutrition….

Tried to make him understand why all life is precious.

He wondered what I was. Called me a hallucination.

I told him I was a Guardian Angel. 

He didn’t believe me.

That was okay: It was a lie.

I’d sit on his tombstone, but there won’t be one. No one to grieve either.

No one cares about people like him.

And I can’t defend him. Can’t justify him. Can’t condone.

I can only watch.

I can’t even touch him. Try to get his mangled corpse out of his improvised tomb. Can’t stop the bleeding.

I can only murmur sweet nothings and wait for him to die.

Sometimes I wish it was me in the suit… the car… in front of the knife… before the bullet… under the rock… burning…

Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t seek medical attention for myself.

In the real world, I’m listening to The Fray “How to Save a Life.” In this one, I can’t think of anything more appropriate.

I would have stayed up with him all night. If I’d known how to save his life…

His heart’s stopped. I curl myself in closer. Time to go on.

He’ll be waiting in Matrasson Berlin. Bathing in the volatile mix of blood, ink, and Irin. Wiped clean. Infant. Staring milk-mouthed into someone’s eyes.

Who will adopt a Vincent? The child-killer. Purple man.

I scoffed. They’d be lining up around the block. All of the potential parents looking for every potential child. A Vincent would be lost in the crowd of infants waiting to be loved. Maybe I’ll keep him among those I raise myself in my palace. Probably not. Kids need parents. Kids need both. 

New and old couples would love to have him. My kids are like that. Like me. Always looking for a new challenge to love.

Now, I have to leave the body and this secret room.

My mother sense is tingling with my next challenge.

Because I feel someone abusing bleach and reaching for a metal scrub brush.

“Noah, bleach won’t help. Come out of the bathroom so we can talk…”

**Author's Note:**

> Note: The guy I'm talking to at the end is the amazing Boo-Ghosty's Noah.
> 
> Yeah, he's another Vincent. (I never learn, do I?)
> 
> http://boo-ghosty.deviantart.com/


End file.
